Thicker Than Water
by Greenbean347
Summary: Cultural pride made them natural enemies. But can a Telmarine lord and a Narnian peasant band together to save themselves, not only from death, but from broken hearts as well? Rated thus for swearing and brutality.
1. Prologue

Bernuna was burning.

Quite literally, in fact. Nearly the entire town was up in flames. Horses, chickens, and people ran this way and that in purely chaotic fashion. Not far behind them were cruel, cackling soldiers, swinging their mases and flails at the nearest victims. They pillaged and plundered, their celebrating forms silhouetted against the flames that danced in the night. At the far end of the town, two men stood atop a hill, each on horseback, surrounded by attendants holding torches. Neither had said much since the assault had begun, they had only stood, stonily, giving orders every once in a while. They were brothers, twins in fact, identical in name, but as with many identical twins, they tried their hardest to look nothing alike. One was taller, and well kept, his dark goatee neatly trimmed, his clothes unwrinkled, his face, expressionless. His brother, on the other hand, was fully bearded, and his hair was longer, and he was a good deal more agitated. Unfortunately, it was the latter who was the proclaimed leader, being the eldest by three minutes, though he rarely did anything without consulting his brother.

A page came clambering up the hill, "My lords,"he cried, "we have taken the town!"

The tenser brother replied, "How many of those..._things_...are still alive?"

"Most of them have fled into the woods, my lord."

"Give them chase, then! General Caspian himself ordered that every last one of them should be killed!"

"My lord, they know the woods better than we do..."

"Do not make excuses! I want every last one of them destroyed. Use any and every man available."

The page scurried off. "Aram," came the calm voice of the younger twin, "perhaps we should ask the locals where the creatures are known to live."

Aram smiled evilly at his brother, "They'll never tell us, you know this, Ardis."

"They will, or they shall suffer the consequences."

They turned back to the bedlam. Aram's fingers twitched as he said through gritted teeth, "I wish them all dead."

"Brother, dear, if we kill them all, who are we to rule once this war is over?"

Aram nodded, forgetting this valid point Ardis had brought up before, "Your words are wise, as always. May I at least kill one of their demonic beasts?"

The other smirked, "You have my full permission."

They laughed. Silence filled their void. In the background, they could hear the screams of the dying.

"Soon,"Ardis said, "Soon those talking animals will be destroyed. Soon those goat-legged demons, and the horse-men, and all the like shall be but a memory. And this land will be ours!"

"It is fruitful,"Aram replied, "ripe fot he taking. Never have I seen a land with such bounty. Even our homeland in Telmar could not possibly provide us with what this land shall!"he shifted in his saddle, and told his brother, "Take over from here, will you? You know how I hate to miss out on a good slaughter."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

Twenty years later.

Eliana woke before the sun. She couldn't afford to sleep long, there was much to be done. She had to go to the market for more flour, for they had nearly run out. They always needed several barrels of ale, and the barn was completely void of oats, once again. Customers, after all, liked their horses to be fed the best oats, though she smirked to herself as she thought they might have to settle for oats from the western fields. And she must do all this early, for everyone arrived at the marketplace early to buy goods while they were still available. By noon, everything would be nearly gone.

She dressed quickly, and crept out of her room, making sure to close the door slowly so that it wouldn't creak so and wake the guests. Her brother, Brennus, slept in the room across from hers, as was usual whenever space allowed (when the inn was full, he slept in her room, which, after a few days of such, set them both to quarreling). She could hear him wheezing in his sleep. Her forehead puckered in worry. The days were growing colder; winter was always a hard time for her brother. She only prayed he could survive another.

Brennus had always been a sickly child. Their mother had been severely malnourished during her pregnancy, as it was just after the invasion that she became with child, a time when food was scarcer than it was now. He was named after their father, but the name conveyed none of their father's fabled strength and courage. He was only a few inches taller than Eliana, who was a petite girl herself, and nearly as thin. Winters were hard for him, and he would be forced to stay inside the tavern the majority of the season.

The siblings ran the Last Stand, the local tavern and inn. Their uncle had named it thus in memory of their father, and the others who had organized one last resistance against the Telmarine invasion, only to be massacred by Lord Aram and his men. The implication of the name was not lost on the local watch, however, and more than once Brennus and Eliana found themselves under the severe scrutiny of the Sheriff. Like all native Narnians, however, this did not stop them from keeping the memory of their sires alive, and every night, as convienence allowed, the entire tavern would raise their glasses in honor of the centaurs, fauns, dwarves, talking beasts, and others, who lost their lives in the Telmarine War.

Eliana stepped out in the frigid fall morning air. It was still dark, though there was a bit of gray to the east. The donkey greeted her mournfully as she entered the stables, his serious face offering itself to a loving pat. Eliana lashed him to the wagon with her own hands, and their morning journey began. The tavern was on the very outskirts of the unwalled town, increasing its suspicion amongst the watch, who were sure Eliana and Brennus were hosting resistance parties at night. Her first stop was the brewers, who had, in the sixteen years the tavern had been in operation, expected someone from the Last Stand to arrive every morning for ale, and stood outside with barrels already stacked and ready to be transported.

"Good Morning, Eliana,"the gruff man greeted her. He was a wrinkled, fat, bald man, with an ugly face. He had been a good friend of her parents long ago, and had always been kind to their children.

"Hello, Alfred,"she said, her voice a little strained, "lovely day,"she added.

"I only hope. The weather has been quite mild as of late."

"Yes, let's hope it stays this way."

"Eliana,"he muttered, as he helped her from the wagon, "the Sheriff's been wandering about this morning. He looks like he's up to his usual tricks."

Eliana rolled her eyes. The Sheriff's "usual tricks" typically included accosting her on her way to market, not letting up until she was back at the tavern. Rivar had a sort of strange facination with Eliana; he found her repulsive, as all Telmarines did of native Narnians, and yet found her blue eyes and blonde hair so captivating he could not help but be flirtatious. He often called her, among other things, a "barbaric beauty," or a "witch."

"I want you to take Ned with you, this time," Alfred was saying, "if anything, he can come for me if anything happens."

Alfred's teenage son appeared from the brewery, appearing bleary eyed but at once helped his father load the wagon. Eliana was quite glad for the company, actually. In order to buy her oats and flour, she would have to go inside the respective shops, which usually meant something was stolen out of her wagon when she got back.

A few were piddling about as she entered the main square. The sheriff's office was directly in the middle, with the watch's quarters next to his, and all the other shops surrounding. Therefore, it was usually unavoidable that she should run into the sheriff, and today she was as unlucky. He seemed to be waiting for her, lounging against the stone steps of his office, and even from a distance, she could see the greasy grin that crossed his face when she came into view.

Ned tensed, and Eliana had pity on him. Like all teenage boys, he had a fearful fascination of the sheriff (or any military man, for that matter), and she was sure he would be quite intimidated by the sheriff's rough words.

"I see you have company, today," the sheriff greeted them as they came near.

"Yes, Sheriff. I am sure you know Ned, the brewer's son?"Eliana answered. Ned himself looked as if he wished beyond hope that Sheriff Rivar did _not_ know him by name.

But Sheriff Rivar paid the boy no mind. He was a paricularly disgusting man, smelling as if he hadn't bathed in days, his hair hanging, matted, about his head. He was big and burly, and at this time wore chain mail with a black surcoat, emblazoned with a silver vulture, the coat of arms of the Telmar. One could not mistake him but for a man with great power, and he took pleasure in reminding they who might be mistaken. For now, however, he was only intereseted in the cold beauty before him.

"Once again, Witch Eliana, you have entranced me with your incomparable beauty."

"Your words are too kind, Sheriff,"Eliana said evasively, trying to urge her donkey on. The poor thing moved so slow, however, that the Sheriff was able to keep up with them quite easily, speaking on, "I see you have once again exhausted your ale supply at that inn of yours."

"We had a busy night last night, Sheriff."

"Yes, I know. Shall you have many 'freedom fighters' there tonight, do you think?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sheriff,"she replied, not looking at him,

"Ah, Eliana, your beauty may be enchanting, but it takes so much more than that to cloud the wisdom of a man like me. I know very well that so many of...your kind...frequent that place regularly."

"Of course they do. I'm quite a good cook. You and your men are welcome to come and see anytime."

Rivar spat at the ground, replying in a disgusted voice, "I see no need to pollute myself with rustic barbarian filth such as you all. But make no mistake,"he growled, grabbing the reigns and pulling the wagon to a stop, "I _am_ watching you."

He threw the reigns back to her and stepped away, looking her up and down in a way Eliana did not like in the least, "Pity,"he murmered, "such beauty wasted..."and he walked away.

* * *

"You didn't get the coffee!"

Brennus stood before his sister in the kitchen, a frying pan in one hand and an egg in the other. Eliana glared at him as she set the bag of flour down. Brennus, wincing a little under the heated glance, continued, "I..I told you we needed coffee last night."

"You said oats."

"I said coffee."

"You bloody did not. Don't you think I'd know the difference between 'oats' and 'coffee' when I hear it?"

An argument ensued for about five minutes, then Brennus threw his hands up and said, "Never mind! There's men out there that want breakfast. Help me with this!"

And for the next few hours it was nothing but backing and frying and serving. Finally the last of their guests left the dining room, satisfied, and Brennus and Eliana sat down for their breakfast, quite famished, you may believe. Nothing was said as they ate ravenously. Finally, they pushed back their plates, and Brennus asked, "Did you see the Sheriff today?"

"Of course. Ned was with me, though, so nothing much came out of it."

"Good. And how was his mood?"

"Pompus and overbearing, as always. Why?"

Brennus leaned near, "Costigern came by while you were gone. He wants to use us tonight."

Eliana looked uneasy, "That mightn't be a good idea. He knows who comes here, Brennus. Rivar, that is. Old patriots and whatnot. He clearly suspects we're housing revolutionaries."

"Which we are."

"Shh! You blithering idiot! My point is, one night he'll ambush us all, and it'll be the gallows for you and I."

"Me, probably. I rather think you could use your devious good looks to escape hanging."

She rolled her eyes, "I'd just as soon swing as marry him. But do be serious."

"I can't cancel it now. Costigern's told everyone already."

She sighed, "Well...perhaps we'll have so many tonight Costigern and his bunch will be hard to notice."

"Be careful what you wish for,"Brennus said, rolling his eyes. Immediately, he started to hack and cough. All of Eliana's sisterly sarcasm was replaced with motherly love as she jumped to her feet, holding her brother steady as he coughed. He oftentimes was doubled over by his cough, racking so violently he might fall over. When he finished, dark fluid was on the floor.

"It's getting worse,"Eliana said fearfully.

"Don't be silly,"Brennus replied, his voice slightly scratchy, "its only the coffee. It was fresh in my stomach, is all. Don't worry about me, Eliana, I'm fit as a whistle."

She saw, however, as he cleared their plates, the red that dotted his sleeve, where he had wiped his mouth. The local physician had promised her an elixar as soon as all the necessary herbs were in bloom. Brennus had exhausted the last of his medicine a few weeks ago. She feared he wouldn't make it that long.

* * *

To the siblings' dismay, Eliana got her wish. The Last Stand was full to capacity that evening. Costigern had arrived long ago, and sat in a corner amongst other rebels. Brennus and Eliana had grown up with him; his father had been killed in the fabled last stand as well. Costigern himself was tall and handsome, though perhaps a bit too passionate about war and revenge for Eliana's liking. He cared more for retaliation than he did any woman; he spoke passionately every week of driving the Telmarines out of Narnia, and avenging those who had been so brutally murdered. He frequented the tavern many a night, often able to find sympathetic ears who would join him in the slander of the men who now ruled over them so cruelly, and in the toast of Narnians dead and gone. Tonight, he spoke to no one, and Eliana knew he was readying himself for whatever speech he would have for the resistance that night.

Brennus typically provided the entertainment, and the melodies of his lyre soon filled the room. Having always been a sickly child, he was therefore usually prohibited from playing outside with the other boys, and had been forced to look to indoor activities to amuse himself, and teaching himself the lyre had been one of those. He was rather good at it, too, and the patrons clapped their hands to the tunes. Men who paid no mind to the song were telling jokes, drowning themselves in ale, or spinning yarns of great magnitude. As Eliana walked by one table, she heard the snippet of one familair to her regarding their current heartless lord:

"The Butcher of Bernuna, they called him. He slaughtered Narnians as if they were cattle. All the talking animals were brutally murdered, they frightened him so. The centaurs, too, he found horrific, and had every single one of them burned alive. The fauns, they gave him the most trouble; he burned the forests of Narnia down trying to find them. To this day, everyone is quite certain he didn't kill them all. There's a bounty for them; any man who brings in a faun, dead or alive (preferably alive, so he can kill them himself) is awarded one hundred lions. But I tell you this, no Narnian..."

"...would sell his neighbor for a hundred lions," Eliana murmured as she walked away, echoing a half dozen others as they cried out their favorite mantra. They said that, and yet when your children are starving, as many were nowadays...

Lord Aram was well known around these parts as the Butcher of Bernuna, for the atrocities he committed during the war and just after. It was no lie; he mercilessly hunted down anything that wasn't human, and exectued them in the most brutal ways. He never stopped at hanging or beheading; he mutlitated the bodies, sometimes while they were still alive. He had centaurs burned alive, dwarves boiled, talking animals butchered and served upon his table as though they were regular dumb beasts. Only humans were left alone, the ones that hadn't resisted, anyway. Human life was more valuable to the narrow-minded lord, for he did not believe the other races capable of the type of manual labor humans were capable of. In this he was sorely wrong; in many cases, the other races could do it better, and Narnian humans were well aware of the fact.

Just then, Ned stormed into the bar. While a young boy would never cause quite a stir as Ned did, upon his entrance, every man looked to him, for there was a wildness in his face that signified he had something very important to say.

"The Butcher of Bernuna is dead!"

There was excited muttering, then someone shouted, "The Butcher is dead!" and cheers rang out. Men ordered more drinks, the place was positively riotous. It was half a hour before Eliana pulled Ned aside and demanded an explanation.

"This afternoon, ma'am,"he babbled on excitedly, for he had been compelled to tell this story several times over the past thirty minutes, and felt to be some sort of a hero for the news he had delievered, "he's been ill these past three months. It finally did him in!"

"It's a better death than he deserves,"came a snarl, and they both turned to see Costigern standing there, his long, wavy dark hair framing a contemptous face, "he should have been strung up by his thumbs and gutted, as he did to so many other Narnians."

Ned took this as his cue to go (he was immediately redirected to the washroom, where a mountain of mugs sat about for washing. Ned was often recruited to help tend the bar), leaving Eliana face to face with Costigern, "Who will rule now, do you think? His brother?"

"Nay,"Costigern replied, as they gathered empty mugs, "his son, Thorin. Meaner than his father, they say. I doubt we'll be better off."

"Why do you say that?"

"Do you remember the massacre at Aslan's How?"

The massacre in question was an instance in which fifty dwarves had holed up in the underground halls of Aslan's How, and were trapped there for several months by the Telmarine army. At the brink of starvation, the ninteen that were left surrendered. Instead of granting clemency, the Captain had each one of them tortured and beheaded. It had been about five years ago.

"Thorin was that captain. They say he personally swung the axe. And never batted an eye over it."

"Costigern!" someone called from the back, "What say you of this turn of events?"

Everyone quieted. Costigern had the coveted capability of holding an entire room of drunk men captivated, hardly raising his voice as he did so. When asked the question, he replied, "What do I say? I say the greasy devil is lucky to be dead! Yes, lucky, lucky enough to have perished before the true Narnians showed him the real meaning of pain and suffering!"

He received cheers to this, and continued, "Rejoice, my friends! For he is one less Telmarine intruder to worry about!"

And rejoice they did.


	3. Chapter 2

You know, I kind of like that tracker thing. It lets me know people are actually reading…

General disclaimer for the story (because I forgot it in the beginning): Somebody working in C.S. Lewis Enterprise probably owns all this. But not me.

_Blood runs thicker than water-Unknown_

_"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies."  
--__Aristotle_

Chapter 2.

The next day was declared an official day of mourning. Shops were ordered to shut down. Anyone displaying "joyous activity" was arrested (what constituted as "joyous activity" was solely at the discretion of the Sheriff). A half hour before noon, the townspeople were forced to line the streets. At exactly noon, the bells chimed six times, in memory of their fallen leader, and presently, the funeral procession could be seen exiting the manor from miles away. It was a good quarter of an hour before they reached Eliana's vantage point, just off the square. Everyone bowed their heads reverently (some had even been assigned to cry; Eliana was thankful the job had not fallen to her) as the body of Lord Aram passed by. His ashen body lay upon the pyre; they would take him to the highest hilltop in the area and cremate his body (the reasoning being, in Telmarine legend, that he would be able to join the gods much more quickly if he were on a hilltop. This honor was usually only reserved for noblemen). Eliana could see little of him save his long, gray hair, his purple tunic, and a sword of some ornate design that lay across his chest, both hands gripping the handle. Directly behind him was a man equal in age to Lord Aram, though perhaps better kept, with salt and pepper hair, and dressed in all black. Eliana assumed this to be his brother, Lord Ardis, reputed to be as cold-hearted as Aram. And beside him was the heir to the lands of Bernuna, young Lord Thorian. He couldn't have been more than twenty five, and looked very much like his uncle and father; the same facial features, that is. In appearance, he resembled his uncle more, in that he kept himself rather well. He had no beard, and his black hair was cropped short. He sat quite tall in the saddle, but what struck Eliana was his face. Not the similarity between the young man and his sires, no. It was the sheer _anger_, the hatred, the bitterness. She wondered who it was that had made him so angry, and when their slow and painful death might come.

"Cheerful chap, isn't he?" Brennus whispered to her.

"Hush!"she snapped, looking around for the Sheriff. Satisfied that he was nowhere to be seen, she turned her attention back to the new lord of the manor. She was shocked to see he was glaring at her. She quickly snapped her eyes away, to the ground, putting on a mournful look as she whispered out the corner of her mouth, "Brennus, if he heard you..."

"He didn't hear me," Brennus whispered. Just then, his whole body began to shake. Eliana tensed. He had felt particularly ill that morning, and had been thankful for the excuse not to work, so that he might stay in bed. But now, standing out in the chilly autumn air, the cough had returned. He held it in as best he could, and the result was several violent shakes of his entire body, ones that he had managed to keep fairly silent until now. However, he could hold it in no longer, and erupted in several violent coughs that were impossible to keep quiet.

From nowhere, a guard materialized, "Something funny, Narnian scum?!"

In one motion, he had thrown Brennus to the ground. Hardy able to breathe, Brennus choked, "No! I...I..."

"Sir," Eliana jumped in, "my brother is very sick! He wasn't laughing..."

The guard slapped her across the face, barking, "Quiet, barmaid!" Eliana went flying to the ground. To Brennus, he said, "Either you've been laughing at your lords, or you were making uncommon rude noises during the funeral of our most revered leader! Both are enough to send you to the gallows, and good riddance! Take him away!"

"_Brennus, no_!" No one came to Eliana's plea. In one quick moment, she saw one she loved more than anyone else heaved to his feet, clapped in irons, and dragged away, coughing up blood the entire time.

* * *

"Sheriff, you can't!"

Eliana stood in the Sheriff's office that afternoon, pleading her case, "You know damn well Brennus is sick. And you know that cold weather only makes it worse!"

"The boy chose an inopportune time to cough. That's no concern of mine," the Sheriff replied, "perhaps you ought to teach that boy some self-control."

"Self-control! He can't control it! He never could, he never shall!"

"It's a wonder that brother of yours hasn't died yet," Rivar stated, rising from his seat to pour himself a mug of stale ale.

"If Lord Thorian has his way, Brennus will die!"

"I can't do anything about it now," Rivar snapped impatiently, "bloody hell! Even if he hadn't done it in front of gods and everyone, I am required to send a daily report of men I arrest. They've already received my report. He has already been granted a trial; a rare commodity for a man like him!"

"Trial, ha! What chance do you think he has of coming out of it without being punished?"

"Very little, I say."

"Sheriff, at the very least they will either imprison my brother or have him whipped. He is not strong enough to survive incarceration or corporal punishment. Any punishment they give him will be his end!" seeing she was getting nowhere, she knocked the ale from the Sheriff's hand. Having his attention, she said, slowly and deliberately, "I _cannot_ lose my brother, sir. He's all I have in this world."

Sheriff Rivar was little given to bouts of sympathy. And even now he might not have pitied Eliana so much as he wanted her out of his hair. Whatever the case, he said in the lowest, calmest voice Eliana had ever heard, "He is set to appear before Lord Thorian two days from now. They usually begin at nine o' clock. If you can defend your brother, then he may go free."

* * *

The aura around Lord Thorian of Bernuna was usually that associated with a raincloud. Or, rather a very intense thunderstorm. Since he was a young adolescent Thorian had developed an unrelenting hatred for the world, for its people, for every last insect and worm that crawled about it. Thorian despised everything. He despised Narnia for its backwards incivility. He despised his King for invading such an unruly land. He despised politicians for their squabbling, the army for its brutality, the peasants for their ignorance, his servants for their shoddy work, his horse for not going fast enough, his breakfast for being cold, his advisors for being corrupt, and his father for nearly anything else. The young man considered it a wasted day if he hadn't found something to be mad about before his feet hit the floor in the morning.

You can imagine that reading off the agenda for the day would frighten any scribe. Therefore, the duty to bring to Lord Thorian's attention that this was, indeed, Tuesday, and accordingly, the day he should hear disputes, was passed along from man to man, until several pages, scribes, and gentlemen-in-waiting stood outside the Lord's door, bickering as silently as possible in regards to whose lot it fell to inform Lord Thorian of that duty which he despised most of all his cares of state (not that he particularly liked any of it).

It was to this scene that Arvis, Lord Chancellor, arrived upon. Cursing them all roundly for their cowardice, he dismissed them, and entered his nephew's room without a moment's hesitation.

It would be a room fit for a king, if Thorian hadn't been such a dreary man. At this point, the room rather reflected his personality: dark, cold, and forlorn. The only light came from the sun, and it contrasted sharply with the darkness of the room. The young lord sat at a long table nearest to his balcony, the sunlight illuminating the disarray of papers on the table: maps, charts, legends and keys, and the like. Because of his efforts at Aslan's How, and with the influence of his father, Lord Thorian had been named Master Tactician to the King's Army, a great honor at such a young age. It seemed to be the only thing that pleased Thorian, or kept him from grumbling, anyway.

"Good Morning, Nephew," Arvis called, crossing the large room.

"Do you think kinsman ship relieves you from calling me 'lord' as the rest do?"came the expected growl from Thorian.

"I think I am the man who whipped you when you were a child and could do so still though you are a man," replied Arvis coldly. Having dealt with the violent aggression of his brother for so long, Arvis was not easily intimidated.

Thorian looked up from his map, glaring, but only asked, "What do you want?"

"Mightn't it have escaped your memory the date, Thorian?"

"I know damn well the day."

"Then you are well aware you are late for the disputations?"

"I am."

"Thorian," Arvis warned, annoyed, "though it may offend your nature, you are now Lord of Bernuna, and I'll not have you acting like a hermit. You rule these lands now. You must act accordingly. Which means that you will act as justice whether you bloody like it or not."

Thorian furiously pushed back his chair, and let his gentlemen in waiting, who had been hiding in the shadows, finish dressing him, several curses spilling from his lips, all ignored by his uncle.

Thirty minutes later Thorian was sitting in a room full of bickering, ignorant peasants. His uncle next to him could practically hear him gritting his teeth as they heard disputes over land, goods, and various infractions of the law. The young man would say nothing until each side had argued their point. Then he would lay down his sentence. They were harsh enough by Telmarine standards, but again, Lord Aram had been known for being ruthless, and his judgments were well known, even by the cruel Telmarines, as being particularly heavy-handed. Thorian was not so beastly. Rather, he passed his judgments rather quickly, and at times Arvis was sure he had made up his mind about some situations before they were completely heard out. Lord Arvis couldn't help but suspect that Thorian wanted to get it all over with as quickly as possible, so that he could get back to his maps and solitude.

It was mid-afternoon, and they were nearly done. They had delved into more serious criminal cases now; thieves, thugs, drunks, and the like. One young man was brought before them in shackles, a horrific mess of a man; small, dirty, and wheezing. Arvis could see Thorian roll his eyes at the slovenly appearance before asking the clerk, "What is this man's crime?"

"O Just and Gracious Lord," the clerk said, ("Every damned time?" thought Thorian irritably to himself); "this man is accused of the despicable crime of laughing at your most esteemed father's funeral."

At first, it didn't register. Thorian's head suddenly snapped up, and he said, "Say that _again_?"

"He laughed at your father's funeral, my lord."

Thorian at once leapt from his seat, grabbing the clerk by scruff of his neck and dragging him into the other room. Arvis and a few other advisors were in tow.

"Do you presume to waste my time with this nonsense?"Thorian cried, throwing the clerk into a wall. The man stood, shaking, until Arvis intervened, "Thorian..."

"Uncle, I don't give a damn who laughed at my father's funeral. They can sing songs, for all I bloody care. I do not want meaninglessness like this brought into my court."

"My lord," Arvis said, pulling him aside, "You must understand. What do you know about these peasants judging by what you've seen today? They're animals, they are. They take advantage of every opportunity they can get. If you show leniency now, they will rise up against you soon. You are new, lord, and they will take advantage of any merciful act," seeing the indecision in his nephew's face, Arvis continued, "Thorian, it starts with a laugh. Then perhaps a few words are said. Then perhaps a whole chorus. People start to talk against you. They criticize your every move, think they can do it better. Soon you have a riot on your hands. Peasants must be put in their place, and their place is to obey and respect you as their lord. Do you understand?"

Ten minutes later, they were back in the throne room, and the clerk was reading to his lord the offenses of the man who laughed. It was the clerk who began to ask the questions.

"Your name and occupation."

"Brennus, son of Brennus. I own a tavern just outside town," the defendant wheezed.

"And what do you have to say in defense of the crimes levied against you?"

"Your lordship," Brennus coughed, "I am a sick man. I tried to keep from coughing as your father's body passed by, but I couldn't hold it in any longer. I meant absolutely no disrespect to Lord Aram."

"Boy," the clerk barked, "Is it true that the name of your tavern is the Last Stand?"

"It is, but-"

"And is it true that patrons of your bar are Narnians once conquered by Lord Aram?"

"They do gather there, yes."

"Is it true that men resistant to Telmarine rule meet there?"

It was here that Brennus faltered, "I'm-I'm not so certain about that..."

"He lies!"came cries from the crowd, "He is a traitor!"

It took some time to quiet them down. Thorian, for once, seemed to be in indecision. Seeing his difficulty, Lord Arvis pulled him aside once again, "You know what you need to do."

"There's no evidence that it's true."

"Thorian, this was per information passed along to the clerk from the town watch. To show lack of faith in them is to show a weakness in your rule."

"I haven't the stomach to kill men in cold blood as my father did," Thorian snapped.

"Your father did what he had to do!"Arvis hissed, "and I'll not have his lands ruined because his son is a coward!"

They glared at each other for quite some time, before Thorian broke their conference and returned to his seat before the crowd, "Because of the lack of evidence in this matter," he began, "I find no conclusive reason to have this man hanged, as I normally would have done to a traitor. However, the suggestion of such disturbs me. Therefore, for your insolence, and because of these rumors, I find that you should be given thirty lashes, and six months in jail, and your tavern turned over to my men. Next case."

"Wait!"

Every head turned. Just behind the prisoner stood a young lady, equal in appearance and stature, "My lord, if you please..."

"Who are you?"the clerk asked.

"My name is Eliana, I am his sister."

"Your pleas fall on deaf ears, maiden. Take him away."

"Wait! Your lordship, please..."

Thorian motioned for the guards to hold off carrying Brennus away, and asked her to come forward. Wringing her hands, Eliana began, "Your lordship, if you please, that tavern and my brother are all I have. You have taken my tavern. My brother cannot survive a lashing, much less prison. If you take him, then you will have taken everything I have. Please, your lordship, take me instead."

There was a low murmur, and a hiss of, "Eliana, no!" from the young man. The clerk interjected, "This is all very heroic, but we have no jails for women."

"Your lordship, put me to work, then. I can cook and clean, and am no stranger to hard labor. Let me work off what debt he owes to society."

Thorian looked at her long. The entire room could nearly see his mind working the situation out. Finally, he proclaimed, "Very well, maiden. You shall serve nine months as a servant in the manor. Your tavern is still forfeit to me. Your brother is free to go."


	4. Chapter 3

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Chapter 3.

Eliana stood before the Steward, a tanned, sharp tongued slight of a man. He was going down a long list of instructions and chores, lacing his orders with comments like, "I know you Narnians don't clean your dishes properly, I'll not have a single spot on my lord's plate," or "I know people like you don't have any concept of cleanliness, so make sure you work extra hard to see the place is spotless," and so on. Eliana wanted to tell him just what she thought of Telmarines and their "cleanliness," but held her tongue. She donned the typical working dress for the cleaning and cooking staff-a white under dress with a black bodice and attached skirt. She was redirected to an old, fat woman dressed similarly to herself but obviously one with a great deal more power and discretion than an ordinary maid, for she immediately ushered Eliana into the servants' quarters, a room located in the basement of the westernmost tower. It was plain enough. A fireplace was opposite the door, and before this were a few three-legged stools and wooden couch. In the center of the room was a round table with more stools grouped about it. There were six bunk beds all around the walls, with night tables between them and trunks at the feet.

Eliana was given a bottom bunk nearest the window, and shown which trunk she would be allowed to deposit her things when they arrived (Brennus had only the day before been released, and it would take some time to get the contents of the tavern organized and moved out before he could send Eliana anything. For his part, Brennus would work with Alfred and Ned at their brewery for the time being).

Lords Arvis and Aram had named the manor Kaapo, what it meant, Eliana did not know, only that it held some special significance in Telmarine history. It had only been completed a few years ago. While considered small by nobility standards, it was no doubt ornate, with high archways, domed ceilings, and pillars of the finest marble you can imagine. She was surprised to learn that twelve was considered optimum as far as cleaning staffs went. The kitchen staff slept in a small room adjacent to their workspace. The great room on the first floor was the very room in which the lord heard disputations once a week (apparently it was easier than it looked to move the very large tables out into the basement for short term storage). The second floor housed Eliana's new quarters, in the tower, and had a balcony that overlooked the great hall. The third floor were additional servants' quarters (such as the gentlemen in waiting), and a separate bedroom for the Chief Steward, all in the tower. Above where the great hall would be was a large library. The fourth floor held the master bedroom, in the tower part, and another large bedroom suite that Lord Arvis stayed in, though they were on opposite ends of the manor, by no faulty design, which took up a portion of the area where the great hall would be. It was maze until a person got to know it.

Luckily, or unluckily if you saw it from Eliana's point of view, she learned the manor before the day was out. The head maid, who went by Madam Deuter, first had her walk clear across the castle to the well, then back, then to the very top floor to scrub the floors, hinting at Lord Thorian's displeasure at anything out of place (among other things). It took three trips to and from the well to complete the floor, so that by the time she was done, it was nearly dusk, and Madam Deuter barked at her as she walked into the servants' quarters, admonishing her for taking so long and redirecting her to the kitchen, where she was to scrub pots and pans for the kitchen staff. Three hours after that endeavor, she was sent to the guests' suites, to tend to their needs before they went to sleep. But sleep would not come to Eliana for another hour, as she was sent to the bottom floor to have her uniform laundered (for she would receive only one, and had gotten hers quite dirty that day). Finally, nearer to two o'clock, she fell into her bunk. If she hadn't been so tired, she might have begun to cry for the hopelessness and homesickness she felt. As it was, she fell asleep with tears in her eyes.

* * *

Fear not, dear reader, for Eliana adjusted to life as a servant soon enough. Things were never boring, that was for sure. One day, she would be scrubbing floors, the next, dusting the library, the next, filling in for one of the cooks, and so on and so forth. She learned to do her chores quickly but efficiently, so there were fewer nights that she would stay up past midnight. She understood that the servants were being paid very well (she, of course, was working off time and would receive no payment for her services, though it was a small price to pay if it meant keeping Brennus out of jail) and decided that maybe when her time was up, she might ask to stay on, and she and Brennus could, in a few years, get the inn back. Married servants were allowed to stay in the small cottages bordering the manor, so she might be able to convince the Steward to let her brother and herself live in one of those.

The only problem was the attitude that was given her by the rest of the staff, or most of them, anyway. Madam Deuter, for the most part, treated her as an inept mongrel of a girl who seemed to have too much time on her hands (for she was always given the jobs that would last the longest, or the most menial ones that no one would want to do). Many of the other girls snickered at her whenever she walked into a room, and the gentlemen-in-waiting were known to cat-call as she walked by (if the situation allowed it). Eliana was never sure if the insults came to her because she was new, or because she was Narnian. While everyone seemed to have a low opinion of Narnians, she knew that there were a few others who claimed Narnian ancestry, albeit not as proudly as she. Perhaps, she reasoned, they had renounced their heritage, which gained them immediate acceptance into the staff. The Steward was very obviously Telmarine, and she didn't expect him to treat her with any kind of respect or friendliness. But she hadn't expected the same from the staff.

One night, she came tumbling into the servants' quarters, bitterly tired. She had, once again, been assigned to scrub pots and pans, and the lord had hosted a large party that evening, so there was a great many to wash. The other maids were sitting around the fire drying their recently washed clothes, and conversation stopped when Eliana walked into the room, as usual. Eliana hardly noticed it anymore; instead she fell into her bed. She had just closed her eyes when one of the maids said, "Madam has another chore for you."

Of course she did, Eliana thought. She arose from her position on the bed with some difficulty, striding to the door, "No," the maid who had delivered the message said, stopping her, "you're to go to the Lord's room immediately."

"What?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders with indifference, "She wants you to tend to his room. Immediately. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Eliana hadn't seen laid eyes on the lord since that fateful day of the trial. There were many lords who went out of their way to meet every person who ever served under them, for security reasons, and then there were those who hardly ever acknowledged their servants' existence. Thorian, I'm afraid, was of the latter category. Still, Eliana was apprehensive at the thought of caring for his quarters, having heard a great deal of his determination to find the wrong in everything he encountered.

She was just leaving when they called to her, "Don't forget the cat."

"What?"

"The cat," another girl said impatiently, "Lord Thorian can't sleep without his cat."

"But Ms. Deuter never said anything about a cat."

The girl rolled her eyes, "Of course not, foolish girl! Who ever heard of a great nobleman who couldn't sleep unless his cat was there? Why, he'd be the laughing stock of the nation!"

"Which is why," the first girl chimed in, "no one says anything about it. Noblemen are awfully cranky when it comes to appearances."

"Where is it?" Eliana asked.

"Just outside the kitchen. They let him out for a bit before bedtime."

Sure enough, a giant yellow tom was pacing to and fro outside the scullery, meowing impatiently. The thing scratched her horribly as they climbed the five flights of stairs, and again and again she cursed her bad luck that the duty should befall her. All the more nervous, she arrived at the top floor. The walk winded her, and she rested for a moment (that cat still clawing at her), before continuing about her way. Two footmen were walking up and down the hall, but only nodded at her as she passed by. She knew the master bedroom immediately, first by its location, second by the great ebony doors with a vulture superimposed above them. Shuddering at the image, she walked in.

The room was very dimly lit, with only the fireplace and a few candles. She closed the door and set the cat down, who ran off delightfully. She set about doing what she usually did for the guests of state that she cared for: turned down the bed, lit some candles, stoked the fire, emptied the chamber pot, filled the basin with clean water, and the like. As she worked, she kept sneaking glances at her lord. She had been taught to never stare upon the lord, since she was just a lowly servant and not worthy. But the lord, it seemed, was not bothered by her presence. He sat huddled over a desk, a few candles lighting the papers strewn about him, and he was writing furiously. She would see the black head bob up and down as he looked from one paper to the next, but otherwise, he said not a word. On the hutch above him was a cage of birds, chirping a bit but winding down for the night's rest ahead of them.

She wondered, did Thorian trust the cat so well as to not bother his birds?

And then it happened.

Remember, Lord Thorian had not even acknowledged the fact that a servant was in his room. Great men who are raised that way seldom do. Therefore, he had not seen her bring in the cat, nor did he see the cat as it stalked about his room. Had he seen either scene, the disaster might have been avoided. As he did not, he and Eliana were forced to watch utter chaos and discord ensue as the cat leapt onto the hutch, knocked over the cage, and tore open the cage of birds. All three scattered in different directions, leaving the crazed tom to go bolting after them like a cavalry charger, upsetting ink bottles, papers, clothes, anything breakable, and candles, the latter of which started a small fire. The worst part of it was, there was absolutely no way any of this could escape the attention of the bad-tempered Telmarine lord.

Two hours later, said lord was pacing back and forth, fuming. Before him were the Steward, Ms. Deuter, Lord Arvis, and Eliana. Several gentlemen-in-waiting, guards, and maids were huddled outside; the clamor had not gone unnoticed by anyone in the house. Eliana, for her part, was humiliated. She didn't look at Thorian as he snapped, "What in the _bloody hell_ is wrong with you?"

"I..."

"Tell me, are you an idiot? What in the gods' name would possess you to do a thing so stupid?"

"I...it was a mistake, my lord," Eliana replied quietly, trying to calm her nerves.

"A mistake! Would you bloody look at this mess?"Thorian cried, gesturing behind him to said mess, "That damned cat ruined everything! He damn near burned the manor down! Why on earth would I want such a filthy animal in my sight, let alone my room?"

"I'm-I'm so, so sorry my lord. It was a misunderstanding."

Still fuming, Thorian rounded on Ms. Deuter and the Steward, "What exactly are you teaching your servants? Hmm? Are you that inept at your duties that you cannot..."

"The fault was mine, my lord. They had nothing to do with it. They have trained me well."

All four pairs of eyes regarded her with curiosity and confusion. Thorian's face was contorted into a mixture of disgust and fury. Finally, he spat, "I want this cleaned in an hour. Any less time and it's all three of your heads. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," the servants chimed. The Steward added, "And, if it pleases your grace, this ignorant wench will be punished accordingly."

"I don't bloody care what you do," Thorian spat, "clean my room, and make sure it never happens again." And he stormed out, a somewhat amused Lord Arvis in his wake.

The Steward grabbed Eliana by the face as soon as the door slammed. Pushing her against the wall, he hissed, "If you ever, _ever_, make me look like a fool again, I'll kill you in your sleep. I did not get the position I am in now to have it squelched by a little whip of a whore like you. Clean this up!" And he threw her to the ground.

It was a stretch, but they had the room nearly spotless in just over an hour. Afraid that Lord Thorian might come in at any moment, Eliana rushed to the door.

"Not so fast, lass," Ms. Deuter cautioned. Taking the girl by the arm, she led Eliana down the hall and to another room. Standing there was the Steward, with a whip in his hands.

"For your insubordination and utter ignorance," he said with a sneer, "you are hereby sentenced to twenty lashes."

"But...it wasn't my fault!" Eliana cried. Two men who were the gentlemen in waiting came and held her arms, "but it wasn't my fault!"she cried again. Neither paid her any mind. She was bound to the table, and the lashes fell. Eliana had not lived a sheltered life. She had her share of calluses and scars, but she had never been whipped. Now, the cuts on her back burned like fire, each one worse than the last. She felt the blood flow down her back, but she could do nothing at present to stop it. Twenty lashes went all too slowly. She was then untied, and, wiping his face, the Steward barked at Ms. Deuter to take care of the rest.

She waited for Eliana to stop sobbing before she picked her up. It was a slow walk down to their quarters. The girls were still up, gossiping about what they had heard happened in the lord's bedroom. They all fell deathly silent as Ms. Deuter carried Eliana in, still in her torn and blood soaked clothes. The old woman set her face down on her bed. When she looked up, the look she regarded the girls with was enough to wither the strongest tree.

"You," she growled at one, "fetch some cloth and water. You shall clean her wounds. You," she pointed at another, "I want her dress mended before morning. She is to work a half day tomorrow; the rest of you shall divide up her chores. Go!"

Eliana looked up as best she could, only to see the hard face of Ms. Deuter. The old woman was strict, but she wasn't unjust. What Eliana didn't know, and would learn later, was that servants who were scourged were typically taken to the sick room in the basement. By taking her back to their quarters, Ms. Deuter was showing the girls the cruel lengths their prank had reached. And by making them care for Eliana, she was punishing them with such guilt and humility that no scourge could teach anyone.

It must have worked, too, for just as she was dozing off, after her wounds had been cleaned and dressed, she saw one of the, she wasn't sure who, set a cup of water down on her nightstand, just within reach.

They never teased her again.


End file.
